"The Americans are your Italians": DAK officer to Desert Rat captor

Some odds and ends from the last few weeks:
A professional conference just before Halloween where I received my annual scare. The geeks are in charge of the original "long tail" organization, and their big machines and tiny brains have created a new clothes that will not stand up.Libraries ain't what they used to be: "It's all online now, Scott". O yeah, mis-spelled and incorrect.

Halloween, an absurd derivative day (ain't they all).

The first of November, to Italy, on a belated wedding anniversary trip. Flew the 747 chicken-bus, DC to Frankfurt, got to wait 4 hours before the flight to Venice. I exchanged courtesies with the Authorities, then I explored, as is my wont. Never did find the museum in the basement I had read about.

Then the whirlwind. Venice, Pisa, Florence (Machiavelli's home town, my fav-o-rite, even after 35 years), Sorrento, a sidetrip to Pompeii, then to Rome just in time for Veteran's day. I saw an Ariete tank and a Pegasus 8-wheeled vehicle with a 105mm gun, parked for display near Circus Maximus. "Just enough firepower to get into trouble" as recon officers quip.Leaving Rome, a quick Airbus with legroom (o frabjous day!); another 4 hours in Frankfurt but I had paperwork to complete before leaving Euro space. VAT. Try to get that done at 0730, even in Germany. I did, eventually.

Random images: The fourth version of Monte Cassino, I can see why it was such a thumb in the eye to the allies. Sorrento lemons, the size of a basketball.The Pope, a bowshot away, delivering his Sunday greeting to the Missus and I and 10-15k of our closest friends. The Italian Navy band, forming up and marching from mid-terrace on the Spanish Steps, dressed in uniforms reminiscent of Adm. Dewey's navy. A huge Buddha on a railroad overpass, advertising an exhibit. The older gentleman stopping me on the street to congratulate "Ameriga" on the election of Obama. A quick transit strike on Monday, hey it's a hobby.Many more moments, tedious to you but memories for me. And the food, o the food....

'cane season.

Summer vacation, so hurricane season cannot be far behind. Ayuh, a few weeks into the season, and the southern tier has taken some pretty good whacks. Don't fret yet, folks. They ain't eating the pets and having 'round-the-clock orgies in the seaside condos just yet. Still at the quiet desperation level, mebbe a skosh more to the desperation side than 8 or so years ago.....

First week of vacay is a tale of cat death, absinthe acquisition, rain and tornados.The death of our hostess's beloved pet set the tone in Maine, and it just followed us through New Hampshire. We have lost The Address Book; without it, we apparently are non-persons.

Second week, ah the whole famn damily at the beach, bless us in our little quirks, we haven't taken to axe murder yet. Not even the year at Hilton Head when it rained every day.

I did round up a different clam chowder recipe on vacation.It stood out because it is neither the creamy NE style, nor the Manhattan tomato infused (and tho a diehard NE chowda fan, I am willing to try it, but a good one, not a mediocre version) style:it is a clear broth version,served at Aidan's Pub in Bristol (or now also Newport, the beers are .25 more) RI. O yes, damn fine pubs, too. They are serious about their beer. Anyways, the Boston Herald printed the recipe, and I have it. If you want it to round out yer collection of clam chowders,send me a note. I'll swap it for a smokin' Manhattan clam chowder recipe.